The moon sank low, peering through distant tree-columns, and went out of sight.  Long stubs of dead pine loomed in the dim, golden afterglow, their stark limbs arching high in the heavens—­like mullions in a great Gothic window.

“When we git nigh shore over yender,” said my companion, “don’t believe we better hev a grea’ deal t’ say.  I ain’t a-goin’ t’ be tuk—­by a jugful—­not ef I can help it.  Got me ’n a tight place one night here ’n Canady.”

“Ah, m’sieu’, in Canada!  How did you get out of it?” I queried.

“Slipped out,” said he, shaking the canoe with suppressed laughter.  “Jes’ luk a streak o’ greased lig-htnin’,” he added presently.

“The captain he seems ver’ anxious for me to mak’ great hurry,” I remarked.

“No wonder; it’s his lady-love he ’s efter—­faster ‘n a weasel t’ see ’er,” said he, snickering.

“Good-looking?” I queried.

“Han’some es a pictur’,” said he, soberly.

In a moment he dragged his paddle, listening.

“Thet air’s th’ shore over yender,” he whispered.  “Don’t say a word now.  I ‘ll put ye right on the p’int o’ rocks.  Creep ’long careful till ye git t’ th’ road, then turn t’ th’ left, the cap’n tol’ me.”

When I stepped ashore my dress caught the gunwale and upset our canoe.  The good man rolled noisily into the water, and rose dripping.  I tried to help him.

“Don’t bother me—­none,” he whispered testily, as if out of patience, while he righted the canoe.

When at last he was seated again, as I leaned to shove him off, he whispered in a compensating, kindly manner:  “When ye ‘re goin’ ashore, an’ they ’s somebody ‘n the canoe, don’t never try t’ tek it with ye ’less ye tell ‘im yer goin’ tew.”

There was a deep silence over wood and water, but he went away so stealthily I could not hear the stir of his paddle.  I stood watching as he dimmed off in the darkness, going quickly out of sight.  Then I crept over the rocks and through a thicket, shivering, for the night had grown chilly.  I snagged my dress on a brier every step, and had to move by inches.  After mincing along half an hour or so, I came where I could feel a bit of clear earth, and stood there, dancing on my tiptoes, in the dark, to quicken my blood a little.  Presently the damp light of dawn came leaking through the tree-tops.  I heard a rattling stir in the bare limbs above me.  Was it some monster of the woods?  Although I have more courage than most women, it startled me, and I stood still.  The light came clearer; there was a rush toward me that shook the boughs.  I peered upward.  It was only a squirrel, now scratching his ear, as he looked down at me.  He braced himself, and seemed to curse me loudly for a spy, trembling with rage and rushing up and down the branch above me.  Then all the curious, inhospitable folk of the timber-land came out upon their towers to denounce.